


Cupcake Champions

by Guede



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cupcake Wars Fusion, Baking, Behind the Scenes, Crack Treated Seriously, FC Barcelona, Gen, Humor, M/M, Real Madrid CF, Rivalry, Sabotage, Screenplay/Script Format, Unconventional Format
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:54:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28415709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guede/pseuds/Guede
Summary: Four cupcake bakers compete for a grand prize.  Mourinho is a judge, and that’s just the beginning.
Relationships: Pep Guardiola/Fernando Hierro





	Cupcake Champions

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written and posted to LiveJournal in 2011.

[Camera swoops across shiny silver counters, a row of state-of-the-art ovens and down a stretch of gleaming white floor before stopping at perfectly-polished shoe tips. It then rises up a tall, lean, besuited man’s figure to reveal FERNANDO MORIENTES standing in the middle of four identical kitchens set in a square around him. He smiles toothily into the camera, hair sleek but with a few wisps astray, just so you know he wouldn’t be averse to mussing it up.]

MORIENTES: Welcome to _Cupcake Champions_ , the place where bakers come to rise to the occasion. *smile begins to look slightly strained* Each week, four top cupcake bakers battle it out through three rounds of blood, sweat and flour for the chance to win ten thousand euros and the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to strut their stuff at the highest of high-profile gatherings, where they just might be lucky enough to be picked up and—oh, no, I can’t say that. Who wrote this?

DIRECTOR (off-screen): Cut! Cut—damn it, Mori, just read the prompter.

MORIENTES: *no longer smiling* I’m trying! I am, all right? But how do you expect me to read this bullshit with a straight face? Blood, sweat and flour would taste disgusting, and the other bit sounds like they’re hookers.

* * *

Fernando Hierro, director, folded his megaphone-holding hand across his chest and put his other hand over his face. He sighed deeply. “I know, Mori, but that’s just how hosts talk on these sorts of shows.”

“I read it over and I thought it sounded fine,” said a slightly sorrowful voice at Hierro’s elbow. Pen tucked behind his ear, assistant director Raúl was busily flipping through the script and frowning at the pages, and so he missed Morientes’ stricken expression. “Well, if there’s really a problem…”

“Shouldn’t it have gotten fixed by now?” called a third voice. “Why the hell would you wait till we’re all standing around and ready to go to debate thi—mmph!”

Morientes stared off to the side, where some scuffling was going on behind the fridges. Then he shook himself, ran one hand through his hair and reluctantly set back his shoulders. He checked his microphone before resolutely staring back into the camera. “All right, all right. I’ll do my best. I still think it’s a little silly, but I’ll try.”

“Not any sillier than the shit you say on the phone to each other,” grumbled the cameraman.

Both Raúl and Morientes looked at the camera, which was large enough to almost completely hide its operator. Especially when said operator was suddenly hunching up behind it, so that little besides flashy leopard-print sneakers and diamond earrings were showing. Then Morientes hefted his microphone, smiled and relaxed into the smile.

“Take two,” Hierro said into the megaphone.

* * *

MORIENTES: Where they just might be lucky enough to be picked up and swept to superstardom. They will compete on taste, presentation, and in the last round, a display for holding a thousand cupcakes. And today, ladies and gentlemen, the prize is the biggest yet: the winner will be providing a custom cupcake display to feed the hungry guests at the after-party for the annual Golden Spike Awards. Judging them will be our two permanent judges…

[MORIENTES begins to walk to the left, with the camera following along. He gestures ahead of him to a table on a dais high above the kitchens. Camera focuses in on the first judge, sitting in the center.]

MORIENTES: José Mourinho. A man with a palate so cultivated, it knows at a hundred paces if the referee’s had an over-salted sandwich, he knows what he likes and isn’t afraid to say. Many has been the baker who has come away with nightmares of his devastating critiques, which are always brilliantly coordinated with his overcoats.

[JOSE MOURINHO slouches slightly and stares expressionlessly into the camera, his lower lip drawn up slightly over his upper one. He’s actually not wearing an overcoat, but his grey suit is so sharp it could sliver almonds.]

MORIENTES: *appears to need a moment to not choke, then grins affectionately at the next judge* And Luís Figo, retired footballer, now ambassador to the world in the name of high-quality luxury cuisine. He’s tasted cupcakes in places of the world no other celebrity dares to go, like those hideous pastel…plastic…things…sold…in…supermarkets.

[MORIENTES falters at the end of his line, squinting hard and pursing his lips during the lengthening pauses between words. Behind him and seated to MOURINHO’s right, LUIS FIGO blinks like a startled but very handsome bird, then mouths ‘are you serious, Raúl?’ at somebody off-camera. But then MORIENTES determinedly turns up the wattage on his smile, forcing the camera back to him.]

MORIENTES: Now, to our contestants today. Hailing from Barcelona is the legendary Josep “Pep” Guardiola.

[PEP GUARDIOLA walks slowly into the center of the set, wearing black dress slacks and a purple sweater under a blue-and-red striped, Barcelona-branded apron. He smiles at FIGO, who is grinning behind one hand, then awkwardly stands with his hands clasped in front of him, looking doleful.]

MORIENTES:…and there’s supposed to be a montage here. But I don’t hear any cue music.

DIRECTOR (off-screen): Cut!

* * *

“We’re putting the montage in during editing,” Hierro said, walking onto the set. He stuck his megaphone under his arm and went up to Pep, whose expression was slowly shifting to mulish. “Pep, could you please look a little more thrilled to be here?”

“I’m sorry, Fernando. I really am.” For a moment Pep looked apologetic. Then he leaned closer, taking Hierro by the arm. “But cupcakes. I’m doing cupcakes. I don’t know why or how you managed to talk me into this, but for God’s sake, I’m in an apron and _he’s_ a judge, you didn’t tell me that he’d—”

Up at the judges’ table, Mourinho smirked lazily and waved his hand at Pep.

“I said you could bring Xavi!” Hierro glanced over his shoulder, where Xavi was wearing his apron with considerably more nonchalance and chatting pleasantly with the cameraman. Then he sighed and put his arm around Pep’s neck. He led the man off a few paces. “Look, Pep, this came from higher-up. I’m very sorry, but you keep not showing up for reunions and certain people are starting to think you’re being snobby, and baking is…it’ll help you project a softer, more welcoming image.”

Pep stared at Hierro, then grabbed the man by the head and yanked that down so hard that Hierro teetered. “ _Who_ are you quoting? You don’t say that kind of thing! Have they gotten to you too? Oh, my God, I knew that—”

“It’s just the PR people again, Pep,” Raúl called out. He was just about the only one who looked embarrassed for the two men when they realized how close they were to snuggling; everyone else had fascinated looks on their faces, especially Figo, who was leaning so far over the table he was in danger of toppling over the other side. “I’m sorry too, but when they get hold of an idea, they just…you know.”

“So why don’t you get on with it and not make us all stay here longer?” grumbled one of the boom operators. He met Pep’s glower with a mournful expression that belied the way he nearly knocked off Pep’s head with the pink, fluffy microphone on the end of his pole. “I’m supposed to be in Brazil.”

“And, y’know, I’m not blaming you, but if your club could get around to sending us that montage,” added a man scrunched in a chair just off the set. He scratched his shaggy hair, frowning at his laptop. “All I’ve got so far is a text version of the intro for you and Xavi, which is totally bland and I’m spicing _that_ up for sure, and c’mon, Xavi deserves way more than that.”

Xavi paused in his chatting with the cameraman to give the man a thumbs-up. Then he ambled out onto the set and took his place in one of the kitchens. He started to open and close drawers, lips moving silently.

“All right,” Pep muttered. He pulled his hands off of Hierro—Figo made an audibly disappointed noise—pulled back his shoulders, and attempted to smile. “I’ll do what I can.”

Hierro beamed at him. That was as good as getting Pep to sign in blood. “Right, then. From the top, people.”

* * *

MORIENTES: Our second contestant calls merry old England his home, where he’s been striving to bring a touch of French sophistication to Arsenal for the last decade. Arsène Wenger!

[Camera follows ARSENE WENGER as he strides out smiling. He seems much more comfortable about the whole situation than GUARDIOLA, despite the fact that he too is wearing an apron—Arsenal-branded—and over a dress shirt and tie. He greets GUARDIOLA pleasantly and the two men shake hands.]

[FILM EDITOR strolls out with a tablet and holds it up so that everyone can watch a montage of Arsenal training sessions and charity events, including several clips of CESC FABREGAS running around in a giant bunny suit chasing down pedestrians. It’s set to English bubblegum pop and FILM EDITOR bobs his head in time, face completely humorless. Then the clip finishes and he strolls back to his fellow FILM EDITOR, who is on the laptop.]

DIRECTOR (off-screen): There’s supposed to be Wenger’s voiceover introducing Cesc. What happened to it?

FILM EDITOR (off-screen): Dunno. I booted up this morning and the original soundtrack had been erased. It’s okay, we’ll rerecord after the competition.

DIRECTOR (off-screen): *sigh* Mori?

MORIENTES: *somewhat flustered* Right, well…contestant number three comes from beautiful Italy, where, no stranger to pressure, he’s just crossed town to head up the rivals of his old club. Leonardo!

[LEONARDO comes out, somehow making an Inter apron look the height of fashion. He has a smile for everyone including JOSE MOURINHO, who grins back and makes a little hand signal that sends LEONARDO into a fit of laughter and has GUARDIOLA indulging in a rather ungentlemanly eye-roll. Another FILM EDITOR-assisted montage introduces WESLEY SNEIJDER as LEONARDO’s assistant.]

MORIENTES: And all the way from snowy Germany is…oh, damn…er, I mean, the coach of Bayern Munich, Louis van Gaal.

[LOUIS VAN GAAL shakes hands and smiles politely, but the atmosphere in the room has noticeably chilled. Particularly around GUARDIOLA, who is now staring hard at somebody off-screen, as if ordering them to explain themselves. On the other hand, FIGO and MOURINHO both seem to have upped their smugness auras to eleven on a scale of one to ten. VAN GAAL notices but merely harrumphs under his breath. While a montage introducing PHILIPP LAHM as VAN GAAL’s assistant plays, the other assistants are sidling into the kitchens. XAVI is already arranging pans on his countertop.]

MORIENTES: Also joining us today as our third judge is a representative from the Golden Spike Awards, the one and only Zinedine Zidane!

[Camera pans to MOURINHO’s left to reveal a frozen-stiff ZINEDINE ZIDANE. He’s dressed to the nines in a shiny black suit and white dress shirt, top two buttons undone, that perfectly models his chiseled, slightly bulgy-eyed face. An arm stretches behind MOURINHO to clasp ZIDANE’s shoulder. ZIDANE tenses even more, then slowly relaxes. FIGO, looking deeply satisfied with himself, withdraws the hand and leans back in his seat. Camera cuts back to MORIENTES.]

MORIENTES: Now, for the competition itself. *pauses dramatically* The first round is all about taste. For this challenge, the theme is golden and spiky. *starts to make face, hears ASSISTANT DIRECTOR hiss at him, stops* You have to incorporate three ingredients into your cupcakes from the table over there.

[Camera pans across judges’ table to another table beside it, which is stacked high with clear glass containers of various food items, each with a little printed sign. Camera briefly focuses on bananas, golden raisins, pine needles, starfruit, lychees, saffron, Buddha’s Hand, lemons, honey and a giant round of cheese.]

[Reaction shots. WENGER’s brows rise, while VAN GAAL’s plough deep furrows across his forehead towards each other. LEONARDO remains serene. GUARDIOLA adjusts his apron, looking pained.]

DIRECTOR (off-screen): Cut! Aitor! Where’s the lobster?

* * *

“Did you get their faces, Guaje?” Silva hissed, grinning madly. “We should use _those_ reactions. I think Wenger about burst a vein.”

Villa muttered to himself and fiddled with the camera. “Cesc’s glaring at you.”

“Oops.” Silva pretended to be intent on something on his laptop, while over in kitchen two, Cesc sniffed and rolled up his sleeves.

Meanwhile, out in the middle of the set, it was chaos. All four of the coaches had surrounded Hierro and were protesting madly, while Raúl had been called over to the judges’ table to conference with a very concerned-looking Zidane. Morientes sighed, checked his watch and then nearly stumbled off the back of the judges’ dais when a powder puff unexpectedly attacked him.

“Shiny spot,” Pablo deadpanned. Then he vanished behind a lighting stand.

“Look, it’s the challenge, gold _and_ spiky. Spiny lobsters fit,” Hierro said in an exasperated, rising voice. He appeared to be keeping Pep in place by pinning the man’s arms to his sides. “You’re supposed to have a difficult time. This isn’t supposed to be a cakewalk, forgive me for the pun. Now where is the damned lobster? Aitor!”

Karanka poked his head out from behind the fridges, brow furrowed in confusion. “I thought somebody told you. They were nixed last-minute, so I made paella out of them.” His furrowed brow shifted to obstinate as more people turned to look at him. “Well, I didn’t want to waste them, and we’ve got to eat dinner.”

Hierro let go of Pep and folded his arms across his chest. “ _Who_ nixed it?”

Karanka pointed, and as there was a collective gasp, Figo looked disgustedly at Hierro. “Lobster cupcake? Or frosting, God help us? Fernando, I’m sorry, but there are some things I don’t do. I’ve got to eat the damn thing if somebody makes it, so no.”

Zidane looked relieved. He patted Raúl on the shoulder and then smiled at Figo, causing one of the grips in the direct line of sight of his smile to faint. While Pablo patted the unfortunate back to consciousness, Hierro frowned, exuded deep dark disapproval from his stormy face and then finally threw up his hands as he walked off the set.

“Fine,” Hierro muttered. “Fine, you smug Portuguese…Mori!”

Morientes jerked away from his cozy-looking chat with Raúl, smoothed back his hair and plastered an excited smile on his face in time for the cameras to roll.

* * *

MORIENTES: And you have to do it in forty-five minutes! *flails arm so hard his shirt comes untucked* Starting now!

[Quick shot of timer on wall starting. Then camera cuts back to kitchen, where the coaches have rushed to their kitchens and are strategizing with their assistants.]

VAN GAAL: Lahm. Bananas. _Now_!

[Rattling noise overhead causes some of the others to look worriedly up. LAHM sprints to the ingredients table and quickly bundles all of the available bananas into his arms, narrowly beating out a miffed CESC. He drops one bunch while hurrying back, which XAVI intercepts and then tosses to a now beaming CESC. XAVI and CESC work together to hack out wedges of cheese, while SNEIJDER grabs at the honey, raisins and lemons.]

[As the assistants return to their stations, MORIENTES begins to wander about the set. He swerves abruptly and narrowly avoids a spray of flour from VAN GAAL’s station. Camera focuses on his eye-bulge. Then he slinks up beside LAHM, who is sifting flour and measuring sugar and somehow also smashing bananas.]

MORIENTES: So what’s the strategy here? I see…one ingredient—

VAN GAAL: *red-faced* What are you doing in my kitchen? Out! Out! This is my domain! _My domain! I will not have meddling!_

[MORIENTES backs up hurriedly. Camera zooms in on LAHM, who ups his multitasking with an apologetic look in MORIENTES’ direction. Cut to WENGER’s kitchen.]

WENGER: Well, it is a very difficult challenge, that is to be sure, but I think we have good technique and we can do something really interesting and different. I want to do a savory cupcake, because it is a total fallacy that desserts must be sweet, we French have known this for years.

CESC: And for the spikes *fires up mixer* I think we’re gonna put starfruit in there. Like, chunk it, and then cut spikes and make a porcupine thing. We’re taking inspiration from Guaje’s head.

[Camera jiggles a little as somebody shouts that see if he’ll unfreeze Cesc’s smartphone next time. Then it jiggles again as DIRECTOR’s disembodied voice tells Villa to be professional or _else_.]

[Overhead swooping shot in on GUARDIOLA, befloured and elbow-deep in a bowl as he discusses with XAVI at a mile-a-minute, not looking up even when the camera comes in so tight on his face that the individual beads of sweat on his brow can be made out.]

GUARDIOLA: The whole idea is integration, we can’t just have gold and spikes, the challenge is gold _and_ spiky. We have to make harmony out of two very different characteristics.

XAVI: So, saffron in the frosting, kinda cuts the sweet and also we can control better how powerful it is since we can just put less frosting on.

GUARDIOLA: Every element has to flow together. The whole is what’s important, we have to focus on creating a single organic _experience_.

XAVI: And a honey-starfruit filling, got it.

[Camera pans over kitchen, inadvertently catching MORIENTES and RAUL in deep conversation slightly off the set—MORIENTES seems distraught, RAUL is trying to calm him down—to arrive at LEONARDO’s station. LEONARDO appears to be consulting a notebook.]

LEONARDO: …lemon zest. Did you get all that?

SNEIJDER: Yep. *whips out microplane*

LEONARDO: Does that sound like before?

SNEIJDER: *pauses and frowns at grated zest* Yep.

LEONARDO: Good. Because I think a big part of this challenge is respecting your roots, what came before, since you can’t build if you don’t pay attention to your foundation.

[Zoom-out shot. A somewhat-annoyed MORIENTES wanders into shot, notices the camera on him and smiles brightly.]

MORIENTES: Thirty minutes, bakers! Thirty minutes to your day of reckoning!

[Mad hustling gets even crazier, as VAN GAAL’s screaming reverts to Dutch and leaves LAHM staring blankly at him at several points. Quick reaction shot to SNEIJDER, who is chortling as he lifts a mixing paddle out of a steel bowl. He dips in a spoon and hands it to LEONARDO to sample. Across the set, WENGER is scooping out batter into cupcake tins while CESC breaks down starfruit.]

GUARDIOLA (off-screen): Damn it.

[Camera zips to GUARDIOLA’s kitchen, where he and XAVI have their heads bent over a bowl and completely block the view of its contents, despite several different camera angles.]

XAVI: It’s just a little loose. I think it’ll be okay, we have to scoop out the centers anyway.

GUARDIOLA: It’s not how it should look. I refuse to accept a bad cupcake. If we can make it better, we should.

XAVI: But we need time to bake and cool too, and we’re running short. Here, let me see it for a moment. *takes bowl away* Um, but that doesn’t leave me time for the garnish…

GUARDIOLA: *lunges at knife and cutting board with crazed eyes* I’ll handle that. Go! Go! Run! Run, you bastard!

[As an unperturbed XAVI begins messing with flour and sugar in the bowl, the camera checks in on the clock. Time melts away.]

MORIENTES: Ten minutes!

DIRECTOR (off-screen): Iker, why are the lights casting those shadows over Pep? They’re making him look like some kind of evil scarecrow.

KEY GRIP (off-screen): I have no idea. They weren’t set up like that…one second, I’ll fix it.

DIRECTOR (off-screen): Check on judges, Villa.

[Pan across judging table. MOURINHO sits impassively, his hands folded before him on the table. FIGO appears to be snapping photos of the action with his phone. ZIDANE is typing away on his phone.]

DIRECTOR (off-screen): Never mind, we’ll cut that out and stick in a clip where they _actually_ look interested.

MORIENTES: *sipping water from a paper cup* My throat…God, I’m out of practice. Right. One minute! One minute till your doom!...doom? These are _cupcakes_.

DIRECTOR (off-screen): Mori, if you’re that fed up, we can always replace you—

MORIENTES: *horrified* No! No, no, I’m fine. I’m fine. I’ll be…er. *hurriedly hands off cup and composes self* Time’s up! And now you must face the judges.

[Lighting dims dramatically except for a single circle on MOURINHO’s grim face. Yelling in background as DIRECTOR and KEY GRIP argue about why the lights aren’t obeying KEY GRIP and are always wandering off where they’re not supposed to be and not looking out for their markers and being fucking awful outfielders.]

[Camera lets out a sigh and focuses in on judging table. Plates are being set before the judges, while just in front of the judges’ dais, the coaches are lining up with appropriately serious looks on their faces. Camera focuses in on GUARDIOLA’s raised brows as one waiter has a brief chat with MOURINHO while another, starry-eyed, gets a quick autograph from ZIDANE.]

[FILM EDITOR pops into frame]

FILM EDITOR: *monotone* Insert cupcake beauty shots here.

[FILM EDITOR pops out.]

MORIENTES: So we’ll start with Louis van Gaal. What are you presenting today?

VAN GAAL: Bananas.

MORIENTES: *pauses, blinks, rubs his nose* All right, then. Judges?

MOURINHO: It’s bananas, all right. *purses mouth* And just bananas.

FIGO: I’m sorry, because I respect you very much, but if I hadn’t seen you put in bananas, I would’ve thought you’d used that awful artificial flavor they put into cough syrups, because I’ve never tasted a worse banana in my life.

ZIDANE: It’s very yellow.

VAN GAAL: Always negative, never positive. None of you understand what I’m trying to do.

MORIENTES: Moving on! Arsène Wenger, what have you got for the judges?

WENGER: Well, we wanted to do something unconventional while honoring the true essence of the competition, so we did a cheesecake cupcake with little bits of a very good Comte in it, and a simple vanilla frosting because we do not want to fight the flavors, we want to let them play their game. And there is starfruit garnish.

MOURINHO: Hmm. Very creative, that is clear. But also a little overcomplicated. I can taste you thinking and thinking and never really getting around to hitting the target.

FIGO: I like that you paid attention to both parts of this challenge. On taste, though, I think the cupcake’s a little salty.

ZIDANE: It’s very spiky on top. *gingerly rubs lips*

CESC (off-screen): Well, it’s true to life!

MORIENTES: Villa, if you start a brawl you can get your own damn ride home. Raúl doesn’t need you denting his car again. *turns back to judges’ table* Next up, Leonardo.

LEONARDO: The idea is to keep it simple and clean, and to play to our strengths instead of trying to stretch into something we can’t do. So we have a lemon cupcake with some golden raisins, and then honey frosting that’s been spiked.

MOURINHO: *smiles* Very good. Very classic, addresses both parts of the challenge. It’s clear you listened to directions.

LEONARDO: Thank you very much. I appreciate such words from you.

FIGO: Bit boring, though.

ZIDANE: It’s very sweet.

MORIENTES: *gesturing oddly with his hand* Pep?

[Camera catches GUARDIOLA rolling his eyes at the LEONARDO-MOURINHO exchange. GUARDIOLA blushes, clears his throat and straightens up.] 

GUARDIOLA: Our aim was to stay true to our philosophy of excellence while always striving for the best that pastry has to offer. So I would like to present to you a honey cupcake with a honey and starfruit filling, topped with a saffron-scented frosting and a starfruit garnish. I hope you enjoy it.

MOURINHO: It addresses the challenge. I like the cake, very light and good crumb, and plays well with the filling. But I think your use of the saffron, while brave, didn’t work. Saffron is very aggressive and powerful and it will run all over you if you don’t know how to handle it. Here I think you lost control of it and the frosting ran to Milan.

FIGO: I thought it was pretty balanced. Good gold color too, and I like the garnish.

ZIDANE: Tasty. *still eating*

MORIENTES: All right, contestants. Please leave so that the judges can discuss.

[None of the contestants look too happy as they slowly walk off the set, their assistants joining them. ASSISTANT DIRECTOR catches up with them and gestures them over to a smaller set for reaction interviews.]

VAN GAAL: They need to stay out of my kitchen. I’m the one who gives the orders there.

WENGER: I think it was a little bit harsh, yes, but we will see.

LEONARDO: I don’t think we were boring, but everybody sees things differently.

GUARDIOLA: I thought this was a baking competition but it seems to be turning out to be something else. Frankly, Raúl, I’m also a little concerned that the judges are…I don’t want to get in trouble, but I hope that they’ll be impartial and fair. Anyway, all we can do is keep following our philosophy.

* * *

“He’s got a point,” said Raúl. “It wasn’t very nice to bring up Zlatan like that, and is that really the image that we want to project to the world? Friendship aside, we’re not the kind of club that should really care about what other clubs are doing, except on the pitch.”

Hierro frowned at the other man. “Did Schalke hire you for their PR department too?”

Raúl was unamused. “You know which club I’m talking about, and I might be in Germany but you know where my heart will always be. Can you tell Mourinho to tone it down?”

“I don’t work there anymore,” Hierro said.

“You do talk to him, though,” Morientes said, walking up. He had loosened his tie and was drinking more water. His shirt was still partly untucked. “You got Aitor a job with him.”

Hierro hunched and muttered about that being a presidential call and they all knew what club presidents were like. Then he whipped around and glowered. “What the hell are you doing, Deco? Spying on us?”

The man in question blinked dolefully. Then he held up a bottle of water. “Just getting a drink. Those lights are hot and you’re by the cooler.”

Morientes snorted. “Which I didn’t see you get that from.”

Deco shrugged, muttered that they could believe whatever they wanted and ambled off. He stopped by a lighting stand, fiddled with it and then disappeared behind some boxes of flour.

“I just think something funny’s going on,” Raúl said under his breath.

“I know,” Hierro said, in exactly the same tone. They both watched Deco go off, and then Hierro shook his head. “Mori, you’re back on. We can’t stop in the middle, so let’s just get through this, all right?”

* * *

[Contestants file out again and line up before the judges, while assistants loiter nervously in the background.]

MORIENTES: Contestants, you’ve all worked hard today, but unfortunately one of you didn’t fully embrace the challenge or good taste, and will not be progressing to the next round. *pauses, shifts back* Van Gaal, I’m sor—

[VAN GAAL explodes into a torrent of German and Dutch expletives, his entire head going red as a beet. WENGER, standing next to him, has to lean away to avoid a wildly swinging fist. Then LAHM and several crew members hurry forward and gently ease VAN GAAL off-set. Several minutes pass while everyone waits for the sound of VAN GAAL’s cursing to fade.]

MORIENTES: And now, it’s time for round two. You have seventy-five minutes this time, but you have the added challenge that half your points will come from presentation. You must create three unique looks. Your time starts…now!

[Crazy rush back to the kitchens by the coaches, while the assistants similarly rush the ingredients table. It seems as if they’ve all discussed a plan for the second round while waiting for the judges to finish deliberating.]

MORIENTES (off-screen): No, I’m not going around and asking again. You saw what happened last time. Van Gaal almost took my head off with that spatula.

CULINARY DIRECTOR (off-screen): Mori, Van Gaal’s been eliminated.

MORIENTES (off-screen): And you know what Pep’s like when he gets all competitive, Aitor. You want to go near him, be my guest.

[Camera checks in on GUARDIOLA, who indeed looks even more wild-eyed than before. He is ripping through lychee shells so fast that a piece of one flies up and hooks onto his left ear. Oblivious, he keeps peering into the mixer stand beside him, into which XAVI is calmly pouring milk.]

GUARDIOLA: Balance! Harmony! Togetherness! Cohesion! Run, damn it!

[Camera lingers on GUARDIOLA’s bulging eyes, then cuts to WENGER’s kitchen.]

WENGER: Well, in the first round we already tried to pay attention to presentation because I think it is always important. But we were criticized a little about that so we will try to be spiky without hurting people, because that is not what we are all about.

CESC: I think this time we’ll make the starfruit spikes shorter, and also I’m gonna do them with a peeler instead of a knife so they’re flimsier and don’t poke you in the mouth. Even though if you wanna be realistic, that’s probably what it’s like, trying to eat Guaje’s head.

[Camera moves on almost huffily. In contrast to the flour spurting into the air at GUARDIOLA’s station, LEONARDO’s kitchen seems like an oasis of serenity. Perhaps too serene, as shots of him and SNEIJDER working together to carefully measure out ingredients are intercut with shots of the clock ticking down.]

LEONARDO: Presentation is very central to both Brazilian and Italian cultures. You’re always looking for beautiful things. But it’s still important to not lose sight of the overall goal, which is to win.

SNEIJDER: Yeah. Though honestly, sometimes it’s like you win and that still isn’t enough because there are other agendas going on…but all you can do is win again. And then you have all these trophies, and what do other people have? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

[Something makes SNEIJDER look up. He waves and smiles, and then bends his head back to the frosting he’s whipping up. Camera tracks across the room to find MOURINHO slouching with a big smile on his face.]

MORIENTES: *almost frighteningly gleeful as he jumps up and down, his shirt now completely untucked* Thirty minutes! Thirty minutes!

DIRECTOR (off-screen): Can you get rid of that hop in post-production?

FILM EDITOR (off-screen): Hey, Pablo and I are graphics techs, we’re not magicians.

ASSISTANT DIRECTOR (off-screen): I like his enthusiasm. I think it shows real dedication.

[Camera returns to GUARDIOLA’s kitchen, where once again problems appear to have emerged. GUARDIOLA is dumping a whole bowl of batter out in the sink, while XAVI alternates looking faintly concerned with pitting lychees.]

GUARDIOLA: Too watery again. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m not going to send out a subpar cupcake. We’ll have to make it again.

XAVI: *done with lychees, examining bag of flour* This isn’t cake flour.

* * *

Karanka pinched out some of the flour, rubbed it between his fingers and then stared in shock. “It’s _not_ cake flour. I’m so sorry, I don’t know how this happened, but I’ll look into how this mix-up happened—”

“Get more flour!” Pep screamed, running back to the counter. He banged down his clean bowl, grabbed Xavi and slapped a bag of sugar into his hand. Then he seized Karanka—who’d been attempting to retreat, but had gotten blocked in by the fridge—by the shoulders and shook him hard. “What’s going on? Where is my flour? I called ahead and they specifically told me no, I don’t have to bring anything, all the ingredients will be here, it was all set. But there’s no flour, why is there no flour? I don’t have an explanation. I don’t run this place and I don’t know who does except for Hierro—”

“Oh, for—Pep, let go of Aitor.” Hierro slipped in behind Pep. He wrapped his arms around Pep’s waist and then lifted Pep off his feet as a shell-shocked Aitor swiftly ducked away. “Pep, calm down, we’ll get you flour.”

Somehow, despite his feet being off the ground, Pep managed to twist completely around in Hierro’s arms. He took Hierro’s head in both hands, smearing the man’s hair with batter and white streaks. “What’s going on? I don’t know, Fernando, I really don’t. All I know is I’m from a little country called Catalonia and I came here to be the best baker I could, but—”

“Flour! Flour, it’s cake flour, Aitor double-checked.” Raúl thumped down a sack by Xavi, who reached out and opened it with one hand because his other one was busy cracking eggs. “Pep, please calm down. There’s flour. And we’re going to look into things and find out what’s gone wrong but the clock’s _still running_.”

“ _Pep_. Look at me.” Hierro actually pulled Pep closer to him. He stared intently into Pep’s eyes.

Whatever it was, it seemed to do the trick. Pep heaved a gasping breath, then set his shoulders. He let go of Hierro and turned around, and then began sifting flour with grim determination. Hierro and Raúl stood behind him, watching closely. Then Raúl sighed and turned away. A moment later, Hierro followed, looking even grimmer than Pep.

* * *

[Quick shot of judges’ table. FIGO and MOURINHO are deeply involved in conversation, with FIGO’s creased brow and MOURINHO’s ‘what, me?’ hands attesting to the seriousness of it. ZIDANE is watching them with an expression of mild curiosity, which he redirects to the kitchens when FIGO happens to glance up. He moves his hand to his chin and rubs it thoughtfully.]

MORIENTES: One minute! One final minute!

[Dizzying montage of last-minute preparation. Cupcakes are gutted and stuffed with fillings. Frosting is swirled. Garnish is delicately placed by hand. Then the buzzer goes and CESC pumps a frosting bag into the air before squirting some frosting directly into his mouth. He grins at the camera and mouths ‘fringe benefits.’]

[Contestants line up in the same order as last time. The waiters come back up and hand around the cupcakes. This time FIGO’s autograph is gotten.]

DIRECTOR (off-screen): Pedro Léon, Canales, we’re not paying you to fool around up there.

[Waiters hurry off and MORIENTES steps up.]

MORIENTES: First up, Wenger. What are you serving today?

WENGER: Well, because the challenge includes spiky, I think that gives you some interesting room to play with textures, so that is what we tried to do. So from left to right, you have a vanilla-saffron cupcake with lychee frosting, and we dyed and spiked the frosting to look like the outside of the lychee. Then there is banana cake, with rum-raisin filling and vanilla frosting and almond slivers for the spikes again, and then you have the cheesecake cupcake with an improved topping, which I think you will like better. It is less painful and also I think the thinner strips will stand up better to the test.

MOURINHO: The first one is sickeningly sweet. Same for two and three. It’s one-note and too complicated.

WENGER: *scowling* But that makes no sense. How can you be one-note and complicated? And I disagree with you on both, I think there is balance—

MOURINHO: Yes, you have lots and lots of flavors but they’re all pushing up forward and nobody wants to hang back and be the solid base. So doing same thing, badly, and too much.

FIGO: I hate to say this, but I have to agree with José. They’re all way too sweet, even the cheesecake that I liked last time.

ZIDANE: *muffled cough*

[Camera focuses in on ZIDANE, who was trying to covertly lower a napkin from his mouth. He freezes, and despite his face being mostly hidden behind his hands, exudes so much embarrassment that even WENGER, looking daggers at MOURINHO, doesn’t seem inclined to complain about his food being spit out.]

MORIENTES: Er, well, then we have Leonardo…

LEONARDO: *smiles bravely* Hello. Today you have the honey lemon cupcake on the left. In the middle is an almond cupcake with honey cream filling and an almond frosting with almond silvers. Then you have a dark chocolate cupcake with lychee filling and honey frosting.

FIGO: They all…well, look the same.

MOURINHO: Simplicity can be a virtue, though. I think the presentation is very classic, and suits the clean flavors.

ZIDANE: *chews thoughtfully and doesn’t spit anything out*

MORIENTES: And Pep!

GUARDIOLA: We wanted to push the limit of the theme, so first you have the honey and starfruit cupcake, and this time there’s a little honey in the frosting to cut the saffron a bit. Next you have an almond cupcake with bits of candied Buddha’s hand studded throughout, and a honey frosting with a curl of Buddha’s hand on top, which is edible. Last is a saffron-vanilla cupcake with lychee filling, lemon frosting and a half-cracked lychee on top for a garnish. Please be careful of the spikes on the lychee shell.

FIGO: Very challenging flavor combinations, that’s true. But they all work very well, even the lychee filling, which I was afraid would be too sweet and dense.

MOURINHO: *holds half-shelled lychee by a spike* You don’t think that having a garnish with part you can’t eat is a bad idea? And you saw in the first round, it isn’t a good idea to serve food that could hurt people.

ZIDANE: I didn’t have a problem with it. It’s delicious. *delicately nibbles his out of the shell*

[Camera zooms in on MOURINHO staring irritably at ZIDANE. Then cut to reaction interviews.]

WENGER: Well, you do your best, of course, but I would like to see more understanding from the judges about what we are trying to do. I do not think they are paying enough attention. I do not want to criticize because they have a tough job, but I think they could do better.

LEONARDO: It’s a stiff competition and the level is very high. We can’t worry about anyone but ourselves.

GUARDIOLA: Somebody tried to give us the wrong flour. I’m not saying it’s sabotage because I don’t have enough information and I’m sure that the director and his people will look into it. But I think that to do as well as we did, with all the obstacles in the way, has been impressive. And I hope the judges take that into account and leave their personal bias at the door.

* * *

“It’s not your fault, Aitor,” Pep sighed. “I know you and I know you’d never be dishonest like that. But…”

“Believe me, I’m going to get to the bottom of this. _Nobody_ gets into my stocks without my permission,” Karanka said firmly. He gave Pep a clap on the shoulder, then strode off in the direction of the food storage.

“Well, there’s that taken care of. I don’t know who it was, but they obviously don’t know anything about Basques and food. They might as well have shit on his mother’s grave.” Hierro shook his head. Then he looked at Pep. He scratched his hair, then slumped so that his head was almost level with his shoulders. “I’m so sorry. I know this isn’t what you came here to do.”

Pep worked up a half-smile as he put his hand on Hierro’s arm. “You’re just doing your job. I don’t blame you either.”

“Still, it’s under my watch, and I think I owe you dinner after this, at least,” Hierro muttered. He glanced over his shoulder, frowning at something going on with one of the overhanging microphones. “So…there’s a nice little tapas bar down the street, and then I don’t know how long you’re in town, but…”

“Oh.” Pep blushed. “Oh, well, I would love to, but…well, no, we’re here overnight, it just made sense, but Xavi’s in the room next to mine…”

Someone cleared their throat and Pep jumped, then rubbed his face over his hand. Hierro visibly suppressed a sigh and gave an uncomfortable Iker an annoyed look. “Lights fixed?”

“Yes. Also…judges would like to see them now,” Iker said. “Sorry.”

After another irritated look at him, Hierro turned back to Pep and smiled encouragingly. “I’m supposed to be neutral too, but good luck.”

Pep smiled back—possibly causing the slight pink in Hierro’s cheeks—and then breathed in deeply. He rubbed his hands over his hips, then walked determinedly back out onto the set.

* * *

[With the contestants lined up, MORIENTES gives them all a nod and a smile before adopting an expression like a sad child. He has lost his suitcoat and his tie is barely hanging onto its knot.]

MORIENTES: It’s been a hard fight and the results were very close this time. However, only two can move on. *long pause* I’m sorry, Arsène.

CESC (off-screen): What? No way are we out! We deserved better, we completely deserved better.

WENGER: *grim-faced* Thank you very much for this opportunity. I enjoyed competing against my fellow coaches. *nods to each of the others* However, I would also like to say, I do not think this was done properly like it should have been. Thank you.

[Camera follows WENGER as he turns and slowly walks away. He stops at his station to collect CESC, who has progressed from disbelieving to downcast, and with his arm around CESC, leaves the set.]

[Cut to MORIENTES, who looks rather upset himself. He breathes in, adjusts his tie and looks at the camera with barely an attempt at a smile.]

MORIENTES: Well, the show must go on. Only two teams remain, and they face their greatest challenge yet as in round three, each team must not only make a thousand cupcakes, but also design a rockin’ display stand to hold all of them. Now, baking is a team sport here, so they’ll have help. *turns to GUARDIOLA and LEONARDO* Each of you will be able to call on four baking minions—wait. *squints, shakes head, mutters about teleprompter typos* I mean, baking assistants to help you make all those delicious cupcakes…

[Camera cuts to back of room, where two groups of four await. The group on the left, dressed in identical black t-shirts, consists of JUAN MATA, ANDRES INIESTA, VICTOR VALDES and JOAN CAPDEVILA. The group on the right, in white t-shirts, is made up of CRISTIANO RONALDO, KAKA, MARCELO and GONZALO HIGUAIN. CRISTIANO waves and then suddenly hugs a startled KAKA from behind.]

MORIENTES:…and a master carpenter to build your display stand.

[Ominous music suddenly fills the air as people frown and look around with puzzled expressions on their faces. Camera focuses in on GUARDIOLA’s suddenly relieved sigh, then cuts to MASTER CARPENTER HENRIK LARSSON walking into the room. MASTER CARPENTER also seems confused by the music. He glances up, shrugs, and takes up a position by LEONARDO. And then ZLATAN IBRAHIMOVIC enters the set. ]

[Camera to GUARDIOLA’s look of shock, with brows arched so high they’re in danger of sliding off the back of GUARDIOLA’s smoothly shaven head. Then close-up on ZLATAN’s equally impressive eye-bulging look of surprise, which is quickly followed by a disgusted eye-roll.]

MASTER CARPENTER: Are you kidding me? I come all the way back here and I’ve got to work with him again? *sarcastic grin* Well, then again, it’s really more like the first time we’ve worked together, with how much I saw him last time.

* * *

Raúl rapidly flipped pages on his clipboard. “I swear on the heads of my children, I signed up Salgado for this, not—”

“You saw me just as often as I saw you,” Pep snapped. He started forward, was temporarily encumbered by a concerned-looking Xavi and then roughly brushed off the other man to march right up to Zlatan. “I’m not a mind-reader and I can’t tell just from your little eye-rolls and grumpy asides if you want to talk to me. Sometimes you have to learn to _ask_ , Zlatan.”

“Yeah, well, my other coaches never said I asked too little,” Zlatan snorted, folding his arms over his chest. He grinned and tipped his head so that the point of his nose was directed at the top of Pep’s head. “They always said the opposite. But hey, you’re a new coach, you don’t have a lot of experience handling big personalities.”

“Oh, so it’s you and not me? How very generous of you, Ibra.” Pep stuffed his hands in his pockets and stood off from the other man. Every inch of his body language was emitting extreme repulsion. “Well, fine. You have to pursue what’s best for you. As for us, it’s not about the one individual anyway. I believe in my team.”

Zlatan snorted again and took a step back. Then he whipped around, one hand coming up to point accusingly at Pep. “Wait a second. Are you saying I couldn’t help?”

“Ibra, you’re a gifted player and I’m sorry you and the Barcelona philosophy, which I am honored to be continuing and to be called a student of, just didn’t work out. But we’ve been doing very well without you,” Pep said. His tone was icily polite, his mouth was in a thin straight line when he wasn’t speaking, and yet the glint in his eye could be construed as smug. “I think we’ll manage to survive, in our little peculiar way.”

“I am starting to see why it didn’t work,” Henrik observed. He rolled up his shirt-sleeves. “Zlatan never could stand somebody who was more sarcastic than him.”

Leonardo blinked in mild surprise. “But I have personal knowledge that—”

“Oh, it doesn’t count if he gets them into bed afterward.” Henrik shrugged, then turned his back on the stand-off in the middle of the set. He dusted off his hands and put them on his hips. “Just give it another thirty seconds.”

Zlatan stared down at Pep, fuming. His nostrils flared more and more with each breath, while his eyes seemed in very real danger of being popped out of their sockets by sheer rage. “I can do things nobody you’ve got can do,” he finally said.

“I have to disagree,” Pep said, once again polite to the point of acid. “Thank you very much for coming out, Zlatan, but if you don’t want to cooperate, we’ll make do without you.”

“Who the fuck said that? I didn’t say that! You, you’re just trying to—you know what? You’re not ruining my fucking dream this time, you philosophizing dictator,” Zlatan snarled, jabbing his finger into Pep’s shoulder. “I’m going to build you the best fucking cake stand in the world, and you’re going to love it, and you’re never going to look at another cake stand again.”

Pep’s brows arched. “Look, Ibra, what I have in mind is rather complicated and we don’t have much time—

“Oh, right.” Morientes started out of his rapt fascination at the pair and smacked the top of the clock. “Two hours! Starts now!”

* * *

MASTER CARPENTER: Just tell me what you want. *shoves sketchpad at GUARDIOLA*

GUARDIOLA: All right, you want to know what I want? You want to know? I want you to shut up and grow up and stop talking about your dreams being ruined. You think you’re the first person that’s ever happened to? You’re great, Ibra, you really are. I mean that sincerely. But players and clubs don’t work out _all the time_ , and most of them don’t take it so personally because it’s not about whose fault it is, it’s about intangibles like club spirit and footballing style and for God’s sake, Barcelona does not fucking _exist_ to make your dream come true! Barcelona exists to be Barcelona! Barcelona! Not Ibra’s fantasy team!

MASTER CARPENTER: See, this is your problem. You’re always going off on these weird tangents. If you’d just fucking straight up tell me what you wanted instead of every time, like, talking about the passing down of whatever the fuck to the next generation as if I’m supposed to _already_ know all that stuff before I even show up—

[Camera quickly cuts to LEONARDO’S kitchen, where LEONARDO has just finished shaking hands with the white t-shirt BAKING ASSISTANTS and his MASTER CARPENTER.]

LEONARDO: All right, the overall goal will be elegance and simplicity. *hands over sketchpad* This is the display I want. Muted gold, please, nothing loud and crass. Clear glass trays, asymmetrical stacking and the legs are pointy at the end for the spikes.

[Camera cuts back to GUARDIOLA’s kitchen, where the black t-shirt BAKING ASSISTANTS and XAVI are goggle-eyed at the sight of GUARDIOLA launching himself on the sketchpad. GUARDIOLA rips it from his MASTER CARPENTER’s hand, causing a brief flicker of surprised awe on the MASTER CARPENTER’s face, and slams it down on the counter so hard that a bowl rattles off the other side. XAVI catches the bowl.]

GUARDIOLA: *scribbling frantically* All right, you want my philosophy straight up? You want the goddamn short-cut? Well, here, here, right here. Here it is. Every part interlocks, everything depends on each other, always pushing ahead but not leaving anybody behind. Nothing stands out because everything’s greater than the whole— 

MASTER CARPENTER: Look, for once can you cut the fucking metaphors?

[GUARDIOLA whips up and he’s so crazy-eyed that everyone, even the MASTER CARPENTER, takes a step back. He slams the pad into the MASTER CARPENTER’s chest and MASTER CARPENTER appears to wheeze a little.]

GUARDIOLA: *screaming, apron untied and flapping, arms windmilling* A fucking awesome cake stand! That’s what I want! Now get your fucking ass in gear and _run_ , you fucking bastard! Don’t just stand there staring at everyone!

[MASTER CARPENTER blinks hard. He turns around and takes a step away, shakes his head, and then irritation returns to his face. He storms off, while behind him GUARDIOLA yanks his BAKING ASSISTANTS towards various kitchen tools.]

GUARDIOLA: You, batter. You two, decorations. You, filling. Xavi is quality control, you don’t fucking do a thing before he taste-tests. Now where’s my knife?

XAVI: Er, mister, I think Victor can handle the prep too while we check the flour.

GUARDIOLA: *calming down slightly* Oh! Yes, we should definitely do that, given the last round…

[As GUARDIOLA pokes his hand into bags of flour, his BAKING ASSISTANTS all breathe a sigh of relief. Then they spring into action, measuring sugar and putting paper cups into tins and keeping the sharp objects very, very far from GUARDIOLA.]

* * *

Raúl frowned. Then he took the phone from his ear and looked up at Hierro. “Michel said he was all ready but he got a call from someone here claiming that he was no longer needed. I didn’t call him.”

“I didn’t either.” Hierro absently tugged at his hair. He glanced over his shoulder at Pep’s kitchen, where starfruit was literally flying through the air. Wincing, he looked back at Raúl. “Does he know who called him? Did they leave a name, or did he recognize the voice?”

“Hang on.” Raúl put the phone back to his ear, only to hiss and jerk. He yanked it away and stared at it. “What the…it’s not working.”

“Well, call him back,” Hierro said impatiently.

For a moment Raúl fiddled with his phone. His frown deepened and he started to look around for someone. “It’s not a dropped call. It’s…I don’t know, it’s like I’m not getting a signal anymore…Silva? Pablo? Can one of you come over and look at my phone?”

“Wait, I’ll just try him,” Hierro said, pulling out his own phone. He put it to his ear, but a couple seconds he pulled it away with the same irritated, pained expression Raúl had worn. “What the hell? I know I’ve got a signal, but I can’t call Michel. What was he doing? Was he surfing? If that moron took his phone with him on the water…”

Pablo had come over and was examining Raúl’s phone. He muttered that he might need it for more than a minute and Raúl reluctantly let him take it away. Then Raúl looked up and blinked sharply. “David, you’re supposed to check in on the carpenters.”

* * *

[Camera cautiously enters a concrete-walled room with metal shelves full of various lengths of wood, power tools and cans of paint. A soft buzzing can be heard, but the camera can’t seem to find it. Then the camera jiggles roughly and CAMERAMAN curses. The camera is steadied while angled at the floor, showing a chunk of wood being kicked away. It slowly rises to find MASTER CARPENTER looking quizzically at it.]

CAMERAMAN (off-screen): How does it look?

MASTER CARPENTER: Well, the pieces are fairly straightforward but I’m a little concerned about the asymmetry he wants.

[MASTER CARPENTER shows sketchpad to camera. The pad shows a large oblong table top supported on skinny legs shaped like twisting, thorny vines with roses. One end and one side of the table have high tiers of smaller, similarly-shaped platters rising from them.]

MASTER CARPENTER: It’ll be hard to balance, I think. But I’ll see what I can do.

[Camera skews around and exits room. It goes down a dark hall and then approaches a half-open door. Just past the door, the other MASTER CARPENTER can be seen hunching over something. Camera approaches door and then MASTER CARPENTER jerks upright holding a chainsaw. He yanks the cord and the chainsaw roars thunderously. Camera hastily retreats, muttering that it doesn’t get enough insurance for this gig.]

[Cut to kitchens. LEONARDO has his first batch of cupcakes out of the oven and is demonstrating to his BAKING ASSISTANTS how he wants them cored and filled. Camera focuses in on one particularly determined-looking BAKING ASSISTANT, who is standing with his hands on his hips and nodding with every word that LEONARDO says. And who appears to have miniature suns attached to his ears that are sending out blinding white rays with every nod.]

LEONARDO: Oh, and Cristiano, I apologize but could you take out your earrings? The light is reflecting so brightly off them that I’m afraid it might melt the frosting when you bend over the cupcakes.

BAKING ASSISTANT: *blinks and turns to left* Are they really that bright?

BAKING ASSISTANT: *squinting with long-suffering, saintly expression* Sorry, Cris, but they are. Here, you probably don’t want to get your watch dirty either. I’ll just put them in the back with my things.

BAKING ASSISTANT: *sighs* All right. Thanks, Ricky. *takes off jewelry while looking upward* Deco, you asshole, stop screwing my lighting up. I _told_ you how I wanted it.

BOOM OPERATOR (off-screen): I’m not in charge of the lighting, Ronaldo. Does this thing in my hand look like a light? No, it doesn’t. You know why? Because it’s a microphone. And you know who gets special lighting? Past-it divas. So what, exactly, are you saying about yourself?

LEONARDO: *to someone off-screen* Sorry, could we please get the lights raised a little? And that rude man removed? Thank you. Cris, we’re working on it, but in the meantime, please start frosting.

[Camera checks in on GUARDIOLA. At some point he seems to have taken some deep breaths and is now quietly directing his BAKING ASSISTANTS, who move like clockwork around him, not looking up and somehow not getting into each other’s way.]

GUARDIOLA: Shape. Shape is important. If we keep to our shape, are aware of each other’s positioning, we control the outcome. Take each cupcake and have a firm idea in mind of what you’re going to do with it. If you lose that idea, get it back as soon as you can. You can’t play with uncertainty.

XAVI: Batter, mister. It’s the almond one.

GUARDIOLA: *dips in tasting spoon, rolls tongue in mouth thoughtfully* Good.

[Camera cuts to judge’s table, where FIGO has what can only be described as an indecent grin on his face.]

FIGO: Does Pep know he’s got flour all over his ass so it’s practically spotlighted in those nice slacks of his? No. Should I tell him? As his friend, yes. Am I? Well, I’m a judge, so impartiality demands that we stay separated from the contestants.

MOURINHO: *mutters* You never change. *straightens up in seat* I think it should be a very interesting finale. There have been some unexpected twists so far and I wouldn’t be surprised if we had a few more.

ZIDANE: *frowns at scrap of paper in his hand* José, someone stuck this to the bottom of my water bottle, but it’s addressed to you. *hands over*

MORIENTES: Fifteen minutes!

[Camera slowly zooms out to take in nearly the whole set as the MASTER CARPENTERS begin to carry in the display stands.]

LEONARDO (voice-over): When I saw it, I was so impressed at what he’d managed to accomplish in such a short time. Henrik Larsson is a true professional.

GUARDIOLA (voice-over): I don’t think anyone’s ever claimed that Zlatan lacks skill or creativity, because clearly that would be a lie. He has buckets of both.

[LEONARDO’s cake stand is, as was seen in the sketch, a table with asymmetrical glass cake platters on it, and golden thorny vines for legs. GUARDIOLA’s cake stand is…hard to take in at first, because it is so large that the crew has to roll one of the departed contestants’ kitchens out of the way to accommodate it. It is a giant pair of gold lamé football boots, one of which is turned on its side to show the spiked sole. Cake platters stick out from the upright boot where the laces would normally cross over the front. More are laid across the spikes of the overturned boot.]

MORIENTES: Five minutes!

[Insane rush as both teams hurry to get their cupcakes on their stand. A near-disaster occurs as BAKING ASSISTANT from GUARDIOLA’s team is almost run over by BAKING ASSISTANT from LEONARDO’s team while both are holding full trays of cupcakes. Luckily, XAVI somehow threads himself between the two and acts as a buffer.]

MORIENTES: Count it down with me! *tie untied and hanging completely loose, manic grin* Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six! Five! Four! Three! Two…one! Stop what you’re doing and back away!

[Just before the clock runs out, GUARDIOLA sets the last cupcake on his stand. He stands back, heaves a great sigh of relief and then starts rubbing at his face as his BAKING ASSISTANTS cheer and hug behind him. Similar scenes are going on over at LEONARDO’S kitchen, though in a more restrained fashion.]

MORIENTES: And now, it’s time to hear what the judges have to say. Leonardo, you’re up first.

LEONARDO: It’s a grand occasion, very important and there will be a lot of fashionable people there, so we wanted to do something chic but minimalist so that the display and the cupcakes don’t outshine the people, since they’re why the cupcakes exist…Pep? Are you all right?

[Camera zooms out slightly to reveal GUARDIOLA with his hand still over his face. He appears to be pressing his fingers into either side of his nose, and his shoulders are shaking. LEONARDO puts his hand out and pats the man on the shoulder, to which GUARDIOLA mumbles a thanks. XAVI slips up from behind and sticks a box of tissues into GUARDIOLA’s hand. GUARDIOLA blows his nose, wipes his eyes and attempts to compose himself.]

GUARDIOLA: I apologize. I was just…I want to say that whatever the personal differences, I really appreciate that today we overcome many trials and problems, and we did it as a team. And no matter what happens, I think there’s something worthwhile just in that. *clears throat* As to the display…er…

[MASTER CARPENTER, his arms folded over his chest, stares hard at GUARDIOLA from beside the giant shoes. Then he rolls his eyes and turns away, clearly expecting the worst.]

GUARDIOLA: It’s the Golden Spike Awards, and frankly, I don’t know where you’d find a more suitable display. It says it all, and I’m very proud to have it show my cupcakes.

[Cut to MASTER CARPENTER’s bulging eyes. Cut back to judge’s tables.]

MOURINHO: Well, Leonardo, your display is exactly what you said it would be. It’s sleek and elegant and would grace a museum, in my opinion.

FIGO: On the other hand, while you have the gold and the spikes, I still have a hard time seeing the Golden Spike Awards in it. It just seems a bit generic to me.

MOURINHO: Pep, there’s no problem with yours there. Everybody knows right away what it’s for. But it’s a little weird to be eating off the boot’s bottom, isn’t it?

GUARDIOLA: *frowning* Considering that we ultimately all live by the boot, I don’t think so. I think it’s a tribute to the hard effort everyone puts in, and our connection to the soil. Our roots, if you will.

ZIDANE: I think I saw a pair like that in the Real dressing-room the other day.

BAKING ASSISTANT (off-screen): Those are mine! Copycats.

MASTER CARPENTER (off-screen): What did you just call me, gel-head?

MORIENTES: All right, all right. Our judges need time to deliberate, so if you’ll leave the room for a moment…

[Camera cuts to reaction interviews. Both LEONARDO and GUARDIOLA look rather haggard at this point, with LEONARDO’s hair even being slightly mussed.]

LEONARDO: They said good, they said bad. But you can’t focus on the bad or else you’ll get weighed down, so I will try to concentrate on the good.

GUARDIOLA: There have been some really nasty and unsporting tactics today, but I don’t care. We’ll rise above it.

[Camera cuts back to main set, where the judges are walking around each display. ZIDANE takes a cupcake off LEONARDO’s display and sniffs it. FIGO munches on a cupcake from GUARDIOLA’s display, while MOURINHO stands between them and looks on impassively.]

MOURINHO: We have to remember they have had criticisms throughout this competition. It’s also about whether they’ve been able to take that and adapt.

FIGO: José, you don’t have to repeat the judging criteria for us.

MOURINHO: *sighs* It’s for the benefit of the viewer, Luís. Because they didn’t get that packet.

FIGO: Oh. Right. Well, I think Pep did listen and take to heart what you said, even though he didn’t like it at the time. I didn’t think his cupcakes could get better but they have.

ZIDANE: This is a hard decision.

* * *

“You’re absolutely sure?” Raúl said, looking hard at Pablo. “Because if that’s right, and there is sabotage going on, then we’ve got a really hard decision to make.”

Pablo’s face didn’t register any extra urgency, or any real emotion at all, but he shifted his weight as if preparing himself for a blow. He held up Raúl’s phone. “I don’t know about the flour or the other things, but somebody was definitely jamming you when you tried to call Salgado. Nothing’s wrong with the phone and I just tried a call on it to check.”

Raúl grimaced and took the phone from the other man. He told Pablo to go back to his editing and then looked around for Hierro, finally spotting him near one of the back doors. Hierro was in an angry conversation with someone and was literally trying to push them out the door. By the time Raúl made it across the room, Hierro had slammed shut the door and was running both hands through his hair, looking utterly furious.

“Deco,” Hierro spat out. “Aitor checked the security tapes and that little bastard was in here this morning. He got on Silva’s laptop, got into the flour…”

“He must’ve been the one jamming the phones earlier too,” Raúl said. Then he frowned. “But…why? And how did he get a job here, anyway?”

Hierro snorted. “Oh, not through me, believe me. Just because Mourinho asked as a favor—”

They stared at each other. Then Raúl jumped as Morientes’ cheerful voice rang through the room. “It’s the final moment of judgment!” Morientes called.

“Oh, no,” Raúl hissed, spinning around.

* * *

[GUARDIOLA and LEONARDO line up before the judges again. The tension shows in their pursed lips and focused stares.]

MORIENTES: You’ve both competed well today, but only one of you really embodied the challenge in your display. And that is…

DIRECTOR (off-screen): Mori, wait—

MORIENTES: Pep Guardiola!

[LEONARDO blinks hard. He looks disappointed, but only for a moment. Then he smiles broadly and turns to embrace the stunned GUARDIOLA. And then both spin about as DIRECTOR comes skidding into the camera frame.]

DIRECTOR: You! *jabs finger at MOURINHO* This was an unfair competition and I refuse to stand for such—

MOURINHO: *hand to breast* Me? Listen, I don’t know what was going on with the odd problems today, I am not in control of such things. But I can assure you that the judging itself was based purely on merit, and reflected my and the other judges’ honest opinions. It was a unanimous decision every time, for every round.

FIGO: Er, it was. It really was, Fernando. We talked it over till we could all agree.

ZIDANE: Is there a problem?

GUARDIOLA: What’s going on? Does this mean we didn’t win?

DIRECTOR:…wait, you won?

GUARDIOLA: I…thought so.

DIRECTOR: *stands still, clearly thinking hard* Well…there was something funny going on. But since it ultimately doesn’t seem to have had a material effect on the outcome, the result stands. But *lowers head to look MOURINHO at eye-level* I’m getting to the bottom of it, and making sure it never happens again.

MOURINHO: As you should. That’s your job and I know you’ll do it well. *stands up* Now, don’t we have a party to get to?

* * *

“He’s still sort of a stick,” Zlatan said, peeling the paper from his cupcake. “But that’s over now anyway, not my problem. I only care about moving forward.”

“Great, so move forward and get me another cupcake,” Sandro mumbled.

Zlatan stared at him. “Why don’t you finish that one first? My kids eat neater than you.”

Sandro glowered at him while messily gobbling up the cupcake. Then he craned his head to look past Zlatan. “It’s a nice display.” He looked up at Zlatan’s poleaxed face. “But a bit narcissistic, doing your own shoes. Did he notice you’d put your name on them?”

“Nah, he was too busy spazzing out.” Grinning, Zlatan ruffled Sandro’s hair. He ducked away from the man’s half-hearted slap and handed Sandro his cupcake. Then he reached back and got another one for himself. “Decent cupcakes, I guess. Never knew he was any good in the kitchen.”

On the other side of the display, Deco was staring at the cupcake before him. Then he looked up the arm holding it to the man before him. “Are you joking?”

“No,” Mourinho said. “You did well, but he deserved the win. When someone does as well as he does, there’s no shame in recognizing it. Or enjoying the fruits of it. So have a cupcake.”

“You are a twisted, twisted man,” Deco said. Taking the cupcake.

In the hallway, Hierro was holding up a limp noodle-like Pep. “Don’t you want to go in and hear all the nice things they’re saying about you?” he asked.

Pep stiffened up enough to knot his arms around Hierro’s waist and snuggle his head into Hierro’s shoulder. “No,” he muttered. “’m exhausted, and somehow I think we’ve both missed something very critical about what that amazing but truly, truly devious man has been doing, and anyway Xavi and the team deserves the praise. I just want to go home.” He sighed and inched his head up to look pleadingly at Hierro. “Call me a car?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hierro sighed. He began to pull them towards the parking lot. “I’ve got my car here, I’ll just drive you home.”

“Okay.” Pep smiled and put his head back on Hierro’s shoulder. Then he began to chuckle. “Congratulations to me, all right.”

“Congratulations,” Hierro said, smiling back. Then he looked up and down the hall. When he saw no one, he shrugged and got Pep around the waist, hefted him over a shoulder, and carried him off. It’d been a hard day and while Hierro wasn’t looking for praise, he figured he deserved _something_.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration credit to LJ user tall_tree. The Golden Spike Awards here are fictional and in no way intended to refer to any real award.


End file.
